


Lost in His Smile

by DarthSuki



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Au Ra Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Named Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Polyamory, They are literally going grocery shopping you can't get more domestic than that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-19 02:48:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19347979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthSuki/pseuds/DarthSuki
Summary: “What manner of gear did you need that it had to be from Ul’dah?” Fray asks, his tone dancing between soft and dark.Amasar tilts his head as if confused for a moment, blinking through some thoughts in his mind before there is instead amusement.“Not gear,” he says simply, and chuckles as if Fray’s question had been some form of jest. There's a soft smile on his lips. “We’re looking for something else. Something...special.”Fray waits for Amasar to offer elaboration, but instead he earns a wider smile that pulls delightfully over the Xaela’s soft lips. Amasar holds out a hand to Fray to take, palm-up, and the dark knight takes it without question; there is trust in the touch.





	Lost in His Smile

**Author's Note:**

  * For [issaMorg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/issaMorg/gifts).



> [Amasar Bulqasar](https://na.finalfantasyxiv.com/lodestone/character/24775934/) is a sweetheart of a WoL and he deserves to be happy with his two dark knight boyfriends and their daughter pls.

 

When Amasar had asked Fray to join him in the markets of Ul’dah, he had imagined the warrior seeking out some form of necessities that required the opinion of another. For someone who bore the heavy title Warrior of Light, Fray somehow assumed that it meant armor and weapons, potions and provisions. He came quickly to the conclusion that he would be helping Amasar carry equipment or even intimidate the greed-minded merchants if they were to take advantage of the man’s not-quite-perfect grasp on finer Eorzean common. 

It wouldn’t have been the first time. 

Fray had seen and heard people attempt it before with the Xaela warrior; speak just a hair too quickly, use flowery words when simple ones would suffice, talking in circles until Amasar’s brow would knit and his lips would press into a thin line. It had disgusted the masked knight enough that he had nearly been tossed from the market, if Amasar had not been there to press a hand to his chest and assure him with but a soft look of his eyes.

They agreed to meet by the aetheryte shard in front of the Adventurers’ Guild. Fray finds himself still heavy in his thoughts even as he waits, leaning against the stone wall behind him. He wonders what sorts of haggling await the two of them, feels the emotion already start to well and twist in his chest as the moments tick past--would some of the merchants recall their faces from the time before last that Amasar and Fray were in Ul’dah together? Would some but realize the face of the Warrior of Light himself and offer him respect as thus?

Probably not. Fray had seen it many times and would likely see it many times more, knowing well that he would get more angry for the Warrior than he would for himself.

Fray knows that Amasar had long-since learned to choose the battles he partakes in, though it leaves him seething when reminded just how many battles the Warrior is so often presented.

Suffice to say when the two of them find one another at last, Fray’s thoughts are already long-colored red. With crossed arms and narrowed eyes he greets his fellow dark knight, trying at least to be friendly to the man who has far from earned his current ire.

“What manner of gear did you need that it had to be from Ul’dah?” Fray asks, his tone dancing between soft and dark. 

Amasar tilts his head as if confused for a moment, blinking through some thoughts in his mind before there is instead amusement.

“Not gear,” he says simply, and chuckles as if Fray’s question had been some form of jest. “We’re looking for something else.”

“Something...else?”

Amasar nods with the slightest smile on the corners of his lips, which is a refreshing look on the warrior so often confronted with burden and strife.

“Yes,” he says simply, “Something special.” 

Fray waits for Amasar to offer elaboration, but instead he earns a wider smile that pulls delightfully over the Xaela’s soft lips. Amasar holds out a hand to Fray to take, palm-up, and the dark knight takes it without question; there is trust in the touch.

Amasar doesn’t say anything else as he tugs his partner into the sea of people entering the Sapphire Avenue Exchange. Though there are no words between them, Fray can tell that there’s something else in the Warrior’s step, something different than he has seen before.

It’s enlightening, in a way, though he cannot say for sure if it is only because he is often colored deep with moments of Amasar’s pain and misery. Fray wonders if there are things that he has missed of the Warrior, though he is not allowed to worry for very long. 

They are but a dozen steps into the Sapphire Avenue before something seems to catch the man’s eye. He pulls on Fray without much warning, though it doesn’t take very much to guide the man towards one of the many stalls that line the market streets.

“Amasar!” says the man who runs it, a hyur with dark hair hidden by a sand-colored turban and a glint of humor in his eyes. “Have you come to fill up your stocks of cheese?”

Fray shifts himself up to one of the Warrior’s sides, glancing once at the man before turning his golden gaze to Amasar. Though there is little to see of Fray’s face behind the mask, it isn’t hard to see his confusion--his wanting to understand the story or joke that lay behind the merchant’s obvious amusement.

“I am not here for that,” Amasar says, a shake of his head though not dissuading the smile upon the merchant’s face. “Instead I am looking for some ingredients to make tea.”

“Tea?” The merchant asks with a tilt of his head. “Well...you might have to be a little more specific than that if you want me to give you an honest answer--will any kind of tea do?”

Fray is not sure what is more confusing to hear. Though he feels there is a story to pull from Amasar when the man may be somewhere in his cups, he is more concerned with what is happening in the present--and why he would be looking for something as simple as  _ tea _ if it required Fray’s assistance.

So he just stands there, his hand still pressed to Amasar’s own, still confused as the two of them shift into gentle conversation that at the very least doesn’t prod at the dark knight’s previous anger that still simmered somewhere unknown in his chest.

Somewhere in the words and noise and things that matter little to Fray, he catches the sound of his name--only then does the man turn his eyes to the source, to Amasar casting his gaze. His sky-blue eyes are narrowed, the corners crinkled in the way to show he had been laughing but moments beforehand.

“Fridurih,” he says, nodding towards the merchant. “I’ve worked with him before. Helped him find trading opportunities with the Amalj’aa tribe in Southern Thanalan.”

“And I am still blessed with their business,” Fridurih says warmly. “They are fair folk with finely-made raw material for metalworking. That is certainly more than I can say about some men of Ul’dah who seek to line their pockets with nary a care for quality of product.”

Though it puts a name to a face, it does little to answer the many questions bubbling in the back of Fray’s head. He wants to think that his confusion is obvious, or at least obvious enough for one of them to explain the  _ rest _ of the situation (the tea, the merchant, the  _ cheese _ ) but after several empty seconds he decides to ask it himself.

“Why are we in the market for  _ tea? _ ”

“Ah, yes, you said you needed ingredients!” Fridurih exclaims, reminded of the topic at-hand. “I’m afraid I don’t have anything as exotic as what you’re looking for, unfortunately. Not the tea leaves, at least--Ul’dah is no stranger to a fine drink, but I’ve never heard of someone fermenting their tea leaves before brewing a cup.”

“It’s no issue,” Amasar says gently. “I will purchase your best leaves and ferment them myself. But what of the milk?”

Fray squeezes Amasar’s hand, feeling ignored and responding akin to a neglected child whose thoughts weren’t being entertained. He felt the Xaela squeeze his hand in return, and so Fray remained silent. Slightly fuming, very confused, but silent nonetheless.

Fridurih strokes a hand over his chin as his eyes shut in thought.

“We have several kinds--none that I can say come from the Azim Steppe near Doma unfortunately, since I’m afraid it would never keep over such a long distance…”

He strokes his chin again. Fray peers to the side to catch Amasar’s face, watching as the man’s brow knits in the way that it does when he’s worried. It’s different than when he’s angry--Fray should know, considering their very relationship had begun on the basis of anger and passion, feelings in which the dark knight knows nearly  _ intimately _ .

“I do have aldgoat milk-”

Amasar immediately shakes his head.

“It won’t work,” he says, “it needs to be thicker than aldgoat milk, creamier with more fat in the liquid-”

“Wouldn’t buffalo milk work?”

This time it’s Fray who pipes up, his mouth working faster than his mind as he suddenly finds himself in the middle of a conversation he  _ still does not know the meaning of _ . Two pairs of eyes turn to look at the dark knight, who suddenly can’t help but feel a stutter to his voice as he continues,

“...I recall its use in the chocolate drinks I once had as a child. If memory serves right, the milk from buffalo is very rich and sweet.”

After but a breath of time, the merchant finally lets out a huff of amusement. Fray feels his body untense with the sound, though he knew not why the attention had put him so on-edge in the first place--if Amasar would just  _ tell  _ him why they were looking for...

“I might actually have some of that,” Fridurih says, taking a glance somewhere behind him before shifting his gaze to Amasar. “If you’ll let me check my stock.”

The Xaela nods. As the man moves out of sight and somewhere farther into the back of his stall, Fray finally turns to look at the other and tilts his head for no filter of his confusion.

“Tea?” He questions, pursing his lips beneath the mask. “What do you need of something like that? I joined thinking that you would be in search of armor or weapons--could you not get a drink in any of the local bars or inns?”

Amasar looks at him with an expression that can best be described as calm; for a man who so often wears tension over his eyes and lips like a rich man wears fine jewels, it doesn’t cause Fray to worry when he sees it--but it does make him want for answers.

Their hands are still together, fingers loosely interlaced as much as the armor of Fray’s gloves allow. For some reason, the dark knight doesn’t much mind it at all.

“...Did you know that Sid’s nameday is in a few suns?”

The question catches Fray unguarded even though his attention is wholly upon the Warrior before him. Golden eyes blink, but thoughts catch up to him at last before his mouth has a chance to speak. 

Sidurgu Orl, his friend and ally and something unlabeled in between, did once mention the detail in-passing. The two men at the time had been deep into their cups in an odd night made only odder by their comfort in eachother’s close company. As he lets himself mull over the old memory, Fray does recall that Sid had almost  _ laughed _ at it--and Fray too remembers how the sound had made his belly feel warm, though he couldn’t be sure if it was the drink.

_ “The day a man is born is not important,” Sid said, staring deep into the mug in his hand. “What matters is the day that a man dies--and what he does with his life until then.” _

Still, Fray finds himself staring into Amasar’s eyes with recollection rife in his thoughts.

“He may not remember the Steppe-” Amasar’s soft voice brings Fray’s attention to the edge of a knife--as if any movement, any breath would break the moment between them. “-but there is a drink traditionally made among many of Xaela tribes, the Himaa included.”

He grows silent. Fray watches as, for but a flicker of a moment, there’s a knitting to the Warrior’s brow. A press of his lips together in a tight line.

Amasar takes a breath.

“...I like to think it was a traditional drink among the Orl tribe as well.”

And he lets out the breath. The moment is gone; Amasar’s eyes are soft, his lips are relaxed, his expression seems gentle. Fray can see but the slightest pain behind the soft blue eyes he’d grown familiar with--but all too quickly the Warrior is turning away from him as a sound of shuffling feet turn their attention back to Fridurih, who returns with a small wooden crate held in his arms.

Once he sets it upon the counter, the man bids both Fray and Amasar to look within.

“I think I have everything you need put together,” he says with a chuckle.

Inside the crate, snugged within layers of straw, lay two large glass bottles of snow-white milk. They were surrounded by small aether crystals; their soft blue hue spoke of their element before the cold even started to seep into the air above the crate, keeping the liquid cold within. Between the two bottles lay a small, brick-like shape wrapped in cloth.

“The tea leaves?” Amasar asks, to which Fridurih nods.

“Not the fermented kind you’re looking for, but they are the highest quality ones that I have--made a deal with a merchant who came from Gridania some days back, and I hear they brew up very well.”

This time it is the Warrior who nods, that soft smile from before upon his just-as-soft lips. Fray can’t help but feel absorbed by the sight of it--it makes him realize how nice the expression looks on Amasar’s face. How nice it makes Fray feel, just to see the other man smile.

“I know ways to ferment them,” Amasar says, knocking Fray once more from his thoughts. “What is the cost?”

“For you? Nothing.”

As if he hadn’t heard the answer, the Warrior still starts to reach for the pouch on his hip that jingles softly of gil. 

Fridurih scoffs and waves with one hand and presses against the crate with the other.

“I will take not a single coin from you. After what you have done for my business, I feel it’s more than paid for more than a few simple provisions like this. Please, take it--and if there’s anything else I can do for you Amasar, don’t hesitate to ask.”

He presses at the crate again and watches as Amasar stills, hand inches from the pouch of gil-

-and finally does the Xaela sigh, as if defeated, though it is light-hearted enough that his lips are still curved and his eyes humbled.

By the time that the two of them take their leave, Fray decides to be the one to carry the crate. It isn’t particularly heavy, especially when compared to the many sword’s he’s carried and learned to use with relative ease. The shape is a little cumbersome, but it’s nonetheless worth it in the end--though his heart feels a soft pang when he is unable to press his palm against that of Amasar’s.

The duo make their way to another stall, and then to a third. The exchanges go much like the first in terms of transaction, though the merchants do not seem familiar with Amasar as Fridurih had. Still, whether for Fray’s sanity or Amasar’s emotional health, none of them give the two shoppers very much grief or underhanded haggling. Just simple shopping, an activity made almost domestic when Fray remembers that the goal was to procure ingredients for but a drink to make for them, Sidurgu and Rielle.

Though tedious, the experience is...nice. Calming, in a way, when they have naught to worry for but if a particular merchant has the right type of salt, or if Amasar can get a better deal in a stall elsewhere down the Sapphire Avenue.

For a time, Fray wonders if his surprise comes simply from the fact that he shares little time with Amasar outside of times filled with stress. He is so used to seeing the man hardened by a battle, covered in blood, dealing with the problems of other people--so rare does he see the man outside of such conflict.

And it’s nice.

It’s...nice to see Amasar smile.

By the time that the shopping is all said and done, both men have their arms filled, each with a crate that is in turn filled with various foodstuffs and provisions. The milk, tea, salt, spices--and even an Ul’dah specialty of candy for Rielle--the items make the trip feel more like they were shopping for household supplies than for anything else.

But, even then, a question lingered on Fray’s thoughts--a question that Amasar had yet to explain to him.

“So, my dear friend,” Fray starts, tone oddly soft and conversational--perhaps a rubbing-off from the time spent together. “Tell me more about why the first question your merchant friend has to you involves  _ cheese _ ?”

There is a moment, but then Amasar chuckles--in much the way Sidurgu’s laugh had, it makes Fray’s belly feel oddly warm, though Fray cannot excuse it to a drink in his hand this time.

“That is a story,” The Xaela says as the two of them step out from the Sapphire Avenue, crates well in-hand and a gentle softness between both of them. “It all begins when I meet this young Raen woman, Ayame Wintercrest…”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Trouble Throughout Translation](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19505752) by [issaMorg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/issaMorg/pseuds/issaMorg)




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